The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter (73 page)

At a quarter of ten the Prescott team arrived in three wagons, followed by several carriages and wagons of spectators. Andrew, having stepped away from the team just long enough to greet Julia and Grace, caught sight of a familiar carriage being reined to a stop with the others along the edge of the green.

“I take it your friend is here?” Julia said, her eyes bright with amusement as she held her daughter’s hand.

Andrew rolled his eyes. “And I’d best leave you now, or I shall be forced to introduce you.”

“Actually, I’ve met him—outside the academy when we fetched Laurel on the Durwins’ wedding day. But we were not formally introduced.”

“Count yourself blessed.”

“Andrew, if he has introduced you to his family, you can’t
not
introduce him to your fiancée. Surely he’s aware that you’re about to be married.”

Of course she was right. Andrew sighed and from the corner of his eye spotted the vicar, flanked by his wife and daughter, advancing in their direction as if drawn by a magnet. “Very well, then, Julia. You’ve been warned. But are you sure you want to subject Grace to his company?”

“I’m not afraid,” the girl said with her usual serious expression. She held up the forefinger of her left hand. “I didn’t even cry when I caught my finger in the door.”

Taking her small hand carefully in his, Andrew studied the bruised fingernail. “Poor Grace! Did it hurt?”

She nodded. “But I still didn’t cry.”

He kissed the injured spot. “Then you’re certainly brave enough to endure this, all right.”

“To endure what, eh?” asked Vicar Nippert, arriving at his elbow.

“Oh, just about anything.” Andrew smiled and tipped his hat to the two Nippert females. “I would like you to meet my fiancée, Mrs. Hollis, and her youngest daughter, Grace.”

“Welcome to Gresham,” Julia said, extending her hand. After introductions were finished, Vicar Nippert’s toothy smile faded into a concerned purse of the lips.

“Ernestine tells us that you’ve withdrawn your daughter from Saint Julien’s. I say, I do wish she would have asked Ernestine to tutor her. Academic pressure too overwhelming, eh?”

“Not at all.” Andrew had already expected on the day he withdrew Laurel that Vicar Nippert would have that impression, so he was able to reply with a smooth, “We founded our own secondary school here, and she wanted to be a part of it.”

“Another school, eh?” For just the fraction of a second, something resembling envy passed over the vicar’s features. “How interesting.”

Mrs. Nippert waved a gloved hand toward Market Lane. “Quite a charming little village you have here.”

“Thank you.” It was Julia who spoke, and the glance she sent to Andrew seemed to say,
Now, aren’t you ashamed for misjudging them?
“We’re happy that so many of you could be here today.”

“Oh, but I insisted upon it,” said Vicar Nippert. “As I explained to my parishioners Sunday past, nothing makes a person appreciate the green of one’s own pasture more than experiencing what else is out there, eh?”

Andrew was acutely aware that he and Julia and Gresham had just been insulted, however wide Vicar Nippert’s smile now stretched around his prominent teeth. He had to choke back the impulse to point out that just because Saint Jude’s windows could not aesthetically rival Saint Stephen’s did not mean that Gresham was not as good a place to live as Prescott. Tipping his hat again, he said, “Forgive me, but I’m assisting with the tournament and must return to my duties.” He took Julia’s elbow. “And Mrs. Hollis and Grace should position themselves behind the Gresham team.”

“May the best village win, eh?” was the parting shot Vicar Nippert directed to their backs.

“Don’t say it, Andrew,” Julia whispered as he tensed to turn. When out of earshot, she smiled and added in a low voice, “And thank you for not leaving me with them.”

“May the best village win!” Andrew growled. “Is
best
now defined by how many points are scored on a target by school children?”

“It’s just one person’s opinion, Andrew,” she said before leaving him to join the spectators well behind the shooting line of the Gresham target. “Don’t allow it to ruin your day.”

As if Vicar Nippert has the power to ruin my day!
Andrew told himself. He only wished that he had thought to remind Vicar Nippert that archery was a sport designed to build self-discipline and confidence—not a means for one village to lord it over another. Reaching Mr. Raleigh, who was squatted on his heels to fasten a holster quiver to Nate Casper’s waist, he leaned down to say, “We have to win this thing!”

“We’ll give it all we’ve got, Vicar,” the young man answered, raising his head to give him a bemused expression. “But you know as well as I that there are no guarantees.”

The reminder tempered Andrew’s ill humor a bit, and he returned his attention to queuing the Gresham children in the order in which they would compete. A third standard student from Prescott was the first to step up to the line, fifteen yards from the target on the right, with six arrows in his quiver. Because both village schools had differing numbers of students in each age group, it had been decided well in advance that the top score from each standard would be counted toward the grand totals at the tournament’s end—deciding the winner.

There were hushed murmurings when the boy’s first two arrows missed the target. Before pulling another arrow from his quiver he sent an embarrassed glance to a couple among the spectators, and Andrew felt sorry for him. It was not the lad’s fault where he happened to live. Andrew’s pity gave way to concern when the next shot landed within the innermost red zone to score nine points and raise a great cheer among the spectators assembled behind the Prescott team.

Mary Kerns from Gresham shot next, the sum of her scores amounting to sixteen; two less points than scored by the lad from Prescott. Mentally Andrew attempted to keep a tally of the top scores from each team but lost count between helping Luke fasten arm guards or quiver holsters and holding his breath every time an arrow was aimed at either target. Just as the first fifth standard student from Prescott had stepped up to take his turn, Mr. Raleigh touched Andrew’s arm and whispered, “Vicar, perhaps you should sit down for a little while?”

“What do you mean?” Andrew asked, straining to look over the young man’s shoulder at the target.

“Frankly, your face is flaming red. It’s just a friendly competition, remember?”

That was the last straw. Andrew had looked forward to this day for weeks, and now the person who should get on his knees and thank him every day for granting him forgiveness dared to lecture him? “That’s fresh talk coming from someone who wishes to court my daughter!” he seethed through clenched teeth.

He was stunned when Jonathan Raleigh spat back, “Well, her father dropping dead in front of me would put a damper on a courtship, now wouldn’t it?”

Two seconds passed when all Andrew could do was gape at the face glaring back at him. Then the absurdity of his own behavior dawned upon him. He gave the young man a sheepish nod. “Sorry. I’ll calm myself.”

Andrew had to remember that promise when Cyril Towly scored thirty-eight points, the most accumulated by any one student, and stifled the impulse to run over to the boy and embrace him.

He was even more compelled to keep his word a half hour later when Mr. Sykes announced the final scores, declaring the Prescott team the victors by twenty-eight points, and the winner of the handsome plaque the village had commissioned. Handclaps and cheers went up among the people gathered behind the Prescott team. The Gresham spectators were much more subdued.

Get this over with now
, Andrew ordered himself. With growing trepidation he hurried to Vicar Nippert’s family and waited for a break in the congratulatory handshakes he was exchanging with parishioners. When the vicar noticed him, Andrew thrust out his hand. “Your team played admirably well.”

“Why thank you!” Vicar Nippert said, pursing his lips sympathetically while pumping Andrew’s hand. “Very big of you to say so!”

“Thank you.” Andrew bade him and his family good day, but the other vicar did not release his grip upon his hand.

“Another tournament in the spring might be worth some thought, eh? It would be our turn to host, of course.”

That was the last thing Andrew wanted to think about at the moment, but he responded with a polite, “That would be up to Mr. Raleigh and the school board. Why don’t you write them?” Finally Andrew’s hand was free, and with a tip of his hat, he turned and returned to where the team was still assembled. And what he saw shamed him.

While his first concern had been proving to Vicar Nippert that he could be a good sport, Mr. Raleigh’s first thought had been for the children who had participated. Parents waited in the background as the schoolmaster patted shoulders and reminded the students that they were still new at this sport and had performed admirably. “We don’t measure our worth to God by a few inches on a target, now do we?” Andrew heard him say.

It was wrong of me to subject them to this
, Jonathan thought after the students scattered to their families. He had introduced archery as a tool to make his time in the classroom easier, not giving a thought to how losing a competition would affect the children.
They’re too young. I should have waited until they’ve had more experience
.

“Should we gather up the equipment now?” Luke Smith’s voice, whistling through his gaping teeth at the word
should
, interrupted his self-recrimination.

“Huh? Oh yes—thank you.” Jonathan held a bow vertically against the ground, stepped his right foot through the space, and flexed it enough to remove the string. He felt a touch upon his back and turned to find Vicar Phelps staring at him. The words he had said during the heat of competition came rushing back to him, causing heat to rise in his face. “Vicar. What I said—”

“You did well, Mr. Raleigh.”

Oddly, the vicar’s hazel eyes were warm. Jonathan waved a hand toward the two targets. “All this was too soon. It only served to discourage them.”

“Children are heartier than you think. Of course they wanted to win. We all wanted to. But this was only a sporting competition, not a life-or-death issue. Something that I forgot myself for a while. Thank you for calling me down when I was making a fool of myself.”

Now Jonathan’s cheeks burned like flatirons. “I had no right to do that, Vicar.”

“You had every right.” He actually grinned. “And it was funny too—that part about my dropping dead.”

Not trusting himself to smile, just in case he was being set up for a tongue-lashing, Jonathan said, “I appreciate you saying that.”

“I meant it.” Vicar Phelps glanced past Jonathan for a second, then raised a hand to grip his shoulder lightly. “You know, while we’ve had our fun, Elizabeth has been hard at work with the charity ladies at the lemonade table. Why don’t I help Luke here, and you go on over to see her? Perhaps a nice walk would be pleasant, don’t you think? Then you join us at the vicarage for lunch.”

“Why, yes. Thank you, sir.”

The older man took the unstrung bow from his hands. “Good enough … Jonathan.”